Brotherhood Chapter Ten.
14 May 2009 06:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
curiouswombatPrevious chapters are Here.
Chapter Ten.
Rating 15.
5,050 words.
Beta'd, as usual, by S2C.
Chapter Ten
As the realisation of what it was that Rumil ‘could not’, of what it was that he thought they ‘needed’, hit her Tindómë stiffened. A whole kaleidoscope of thoughts and images flew through her mind in seconds.
Oddly, it occurred to her later, the very first thought was ‘but I couldn’t do that with Orophin – he’s older!’ This was incredibly stupid – Orophin was twenty years older than Rumil – but, as Rumil was one thousand two hundred and ninety-three years old, twenty years was really neither here nor there…
Crowded on top of that silly thought were others less silly. Rumil was right; he couldn’t, not with his insides still held in by bandages and stitches. Both the ellyn did need comfort – and Rumil believed that intimate contact would comfort all of them.
Tindómë thought that Orophin needed comfort even more than Rumil – in amongst the broken sobs of ‘muindor-nín’ – which she had realised applied to each other, as well as the dead Haldir, had been ‘Ada’ and ‘Nana’ – ‘Dad’ and ‘Mom’.
What little she had been told about the death of their parents suggested that Álith talking about the raid on her home must have brought back other horrible memories for Orophin; less so for Rumil, who had been half asleep and had probably not understood much of what she had said. Here, too, was where that twenty year age gap actually mattered; Lord Celeborn had explained to her that all elven memories remained clear except for those of the first ten to fifteen years of life – early elflinghood.
Rumil had been about ten, Orophin thirty, when their parents had died – the equivalent of a three or four year old and an eleven year old in human terms. Orophin had clear memories, unlike Rumil, of that early orc attack.
All those bad memories, along with Rumil being so badly injured, and the way that she had come between them herself; it was a wonder Orophin was not a total wreck, but instead he had spent last night comforting her.
And Rumil was right – what he ‘could not’ probably would comfort her if he ‘could’. She recognised that part of her own distress was not just for the death of the other young woman, but also because she had learnt from Buffy that nobody could still want you after you had killed someone.
All these things went through her mind as she lay, stiffly, between the two ellyn.
Then she realised that, behind her, Orophin must have felt her reaction. There was now no contact along the length of her back – he had eased away, just enough, and he was talking gently.
“Tindómë, little one, you don’t have to. Rumil you should not have asked it of her. I will be well enough. I will just sit by the window or go into the other bedroom. Even though you cannot, you can draw enough comfort from each other…”
She felt a sudden pang of guilt – and knew it was Rumil’s – whether guilty for asking it of her, or guilty at the thought of Orophin feeling that he had to leave the enormous bed, Tindómë didn’t know.
And she didn’t care.
Suddenly it was easy – Rumil was right – all three ‘needed’ comfort and reassurance. She remembered thinking, the night before, how much she had wanted to comfort Rumil and yet it had been Orophin who had ended up caring for them both. Now both Orophin and Rumil needed comforting, and what they needed was not soft words, it was physical contact – the physical contact that elves did not use lightly.
They needed to be held as close as possible – and, if this meant at some point that the two bodies that ‘could’ ended up as closely joined as it was possible to get, then it would be very little more intimate than the three naked bodies pressed together and less intimate, in some ways, than being witness to the grief of a couple of hours previous.
It wasn’t scary, or uncomfortable, or anything else; the choice was totally hers. As Orophin began to move his arm away from her she brought her hand up and stopped him.
“Orophin, please, stay,” she said.
He left his arm where it lay, but he did not curl against her again. He wasn’t going to get much comfort from lying stiffly in the bed, trying not to touch her, she thought. Rumil had also tensed up.
Tindómë consciously relaxed, felt her own body soften, and then reached a hand to Rumil’s face and turned it towards herself. His eyes still looked slightly blank, and he didn’t quite meet her gaze – she guessed that she had made him feel guilty over something that had seemed right to him. She willed him to look at her, she tried to ‘push’ how much she cared through the faer thing, but got little response and she wondered if he was blocking her out. She moved a little more until her forehead touched his and he had trouble avoiding her gaze.
“Rumil-nín,” she tried again to share her own feelings – her own need for reassurance. “You are right. We do need… I need too…”
She felt him relax, but there was still little sense of emotion from him – if Orophin felt the same then both were ‘empty’ – they really did ‘need’ – they needed love and care to refill them emotionally.
She realised that she felt a sense of loss because Orophin was no longer curled against her back. He lay tense and still behind her; there was no contact except the touch of the arm held so stiffly that it barely touched her. She moved a little towards him and said “Phin… come closer…”
…………………………………………………….
Elrohir stood at the open window in only his leggings, enjoying the air on his bare chest, the slight breeze in his hair.
“You have been her healer these last two days,” Elladan’s voice was quiet as he stood within arm’s reach. “Is she strong enough, just now, to cope?”
Elrohir thought carefully before answering, and in the silence he could hear voices, quiet voices from the open window of the room next door. He had no qualms about listening; all elves were used to hearing the sounds of the others around them. At home in Imladris all rooms had large open windows and doors that were rarely closed; in Lorien sound carried easily from talan to talan and elves had good hearing. Usually you simply chose not to listen, but sometimes…
“Phin… I cannot…”
“I think so,” he answered his brother. “She is very strong for one so young. Whether this is because of the power within her, or the dangerous place in which she was raised before she came home to Middle Earth, I do not know; but I think she is strong enough.
“The worst thing for her was realising that it was her arrow. The sister in the other place would have been very angry and turned against her – or at least that is what our little warrior believes - although probably she is wrong. Sister-hood cannot be that different and I would not have been angry with you if it had been your arrow, even if it had been an elleth.
“But Tindómë’s faer is very strong. You and I could feel their pain even within these stone walls; with her link to Rumil it must have been like a storm rolling over her. Yet she was calm when I spoke to her mind on their return – and not in the empty way they have left themselves.”
“Meleth-nín, please? You need… I need… Phin needs… I cannot…”
“Do you think she realises yet exactly what Rumil is asking?” Elladan still sounded worried. “It is clear to us, but she is ‘not quite an elf’…”
He said the phrase exactly as Rumil did and, even though the subject was so serious, Elrohir smiled.
A few moments later came Orophin’s voice.
“Tindómë, little one, you don’t have to. Rumil you should not have asked it of her…”
“I think she does now,” Elrohir answered, and although he sounded amused he was worried.
He was sure that Rumil was right – as much bodily contact as possible, including the ultimate body contact, would heal all three. That Rumil ‘cannot’ was actually a good thing; the one most in need was Orophin and, probably, second most needy was Tindómë, despite the reassurance he had just given Elladan.
If the little one rejected the brothers badly it would be hard to do anything about it just now. They could bring Orophin into their own bed, but that would take him away from his brother, not ideal right now and likely to make tomorrow’s ceremonies harder for the Galadhrim. If Rumil’s request caused dissonance between himself and Tindómë it would further damage faers already hurt…
He wanted to speak to Tindómë’s mind, to say “Please, please don’t reject them,” but he knew it was the worst possible thing he could do right now.
Without thought both twins closed the gap between them, until their arms touched, as both held their breath.
“I need too… Phin… come closer…” Tindómë’s voice, soft but firm.
Elrohir breathed again – simultaneously so did Elladan.
They stood together at the window and continued to listen shamelessly.
“They will probably not be heard by the men,” Elladan said, his own voice so soft that no-one but another elf within inches could hear, “but we can stand watch for them in case they sleep eventually and shock the maid! They probably forgot to lock the door.
“Who do you think is most receptive, for us to tell them that, just now?” he finished.
“Rumil,” Elrohir answered immediately. “Tindómë would be unsettled if she thought we listened; Orophin is more in need of healing and less likely to hear just now. I will do it.”
There were soft wordless sounds from the other room. Elrohir concentrated and pictured Rumil in his mind.
“Rumil? Rumil?” He sent the thought quietly and waited.
“Elrohir?” The response was firmer than he anticipated.
“Rumil – we will stand guard, my friend. If we think the men might hear we will tell you. But, more importantly, if you all sleep we will wake you before the maid does. Be whole, all of you.”
“Thank you, my friend.” Elrohir could feel Rumil turn his mind away to other things.
“Bring the chairs and the wine, El,” he said out loud, “it will be a more pleasant guard duty than most…”
All that could be heard through the night, apart from the guards below, the horses, and the odd night bird, were occasional soft murmurings, not even a creaking of the bed. That thought made his twin smile when he shared it with Elladan – Éomer King’s bed must be kept well tightened…
Towards the morning Elladan slumbered when Elrohir heard a couple of soft giggles, and then the only loud cry of the night, quickly quashed, which brought to mind Rumil’s dry comment that ‘my human lady knows how to share silence – and when to put her beautiful mouth to best use…’ Elrohir grinned.
……………………………………………………….
“Mmm…” Tindómë woke gently. Someone was nibbling on her earlobe. She half opened an eye and could see Rumil’s hair, tousled slightly, where he lay with his head pillowed on her breast. Huh? How could he be nibbling her earlobe if his head… her breast…?
She was totally awake, with brain and memory functioning, very, very quickly. Blond head on breast – Orophin; ear-nibbler – Rumil. She had just shared the bed, in a totally different way to the previous night, with both of them; she mentally ran through a list of emotions – did she feel guilty? Shocked? Used? Ashamed? A total ho? No! If you had asked her how it might feel to wake up in this position she might have said any or all of those, but actually she felt more… cherished.
She must have ended up where she had started – in the middle. Her head was on a pillow, Rumil was lying turned towards her with his fingers in her hair, still nibbling her ear, and if he was happy that his brother slept on the other side of her with his head on her breast, her hand held by his against his bare chest, then that was what mattered most.
Realising that she was now awake, Rumil smiled, his eyes no longer blank or sliding away from her gaze but actually… full of fun! He shook his head infinitesimally, a clear ‘Don’t disturb him’ gesture, and leaned in to kiss her, briefly but sweetly, before he ran his fingernail down Orophin’s cheek.
Orophin woke immediately and Tindómë could see that he, too, was mentally taking stock.
Before Orophin could move, Rumil spoke. “Meleth-nín, muindor-nín, Elrohir says to waken now, as the maid has just arrived with hot water. He says Elladan has waylaid her and is likely to keep her occupied for at least ten minutes.
“He also says that if you need more time before she reaches your room, meleth, perhaps Orophin should open this door wearing nothing but his leggings…!”
Orophin glanced warily towards Tindómë’s face. Although he might look a little unsure of her reaction, she thought, at least he no longer looked ‘empty’ either. Later she might turn over in her mind what had gone on during the night, but not right now.
She really wasn’t sure what to say; it was not the sort of situation covered in anything she’d read, either here in Middle Earth or back in Sunnydale, and she didn’t remember Boroniel or Eriathwen mentioning it either…
She smiled, and twisted the fingers of their hands together where they lay on his chest. He looked at the two hands, gave hers a slight squeeze before releasing it, smiled back and sat up.
“And why should it be me in my leggings? Perhaps it should be you, muindor-nín, with nothing but your bandages…?”
“Oh, no!” Tindómë said. “That might just frighten her so that she runs straight to the Queen’s room!”
Orophin slid out of the bed – then held his hand out to Tindómë.
“Hurry, then, for the men, or women, would not understand why you needed to be with us.”
She kissed Rumil briefly, and then turned back to Orophin. He took both her hands in his, leant forward until his forehead touched hers in what was a particularly elven gesture, and said, quietly, “Thank you.”
“And you,” she answered.
By the time Fritha knocked on the door to the Queen’s room, and then entered with a jug of hot water, Tindómë’s bed looked slightly rumpled and she was wearing her underwear. However, Tindómë thought, if she had been stark naked, with her head shaved, Fritha looked as if she would probably not have noticed. Best not to ask exactly how Elladan had kept the maid waylaid; she knew the twins could charm birds off trees, and Fritha had been dazzled enough yesterday by Orophin with all his clothes on …
…………………………………………………………..
A knock on the outer door, and Elladan came in, fully dressed.
“Good morning, tithen maethor,” he greeted her in the Common Tongue, “we hope that you spent the night in comfort.”
‘M’kay,’ Tindómë thought, ‘why tithen maethor in Sindarin? Why does he think of me as a warrior today? And… in comfort?’
“Thank you, Elladan,” she answered, also in the Common tongue as a politeness to the maid. “My night was certainly spent… in comfort… Why would it not be?”
She raised one eyebrow, in what she knew was also a very elven gesture.
He inclined his head a tiny amount, and offered his arm, saying no more. At least saying no more out loud.
“I am sorry, Tindómë,” his voice was clear in her head, “I should not tease you. You were very brave to stay with them when they sorrowed so, and to stay with them when they returned to the Hornburg, and finally to stay with them and let them take comfort physically to help them regain their balance. No warrior could have been braver, or done more.”
“They have been so good to me, how could I do less?” She answered out loud, in Sindarin, as she was still not sure just how much effort it took to make one of the Els ‘hear’ thoughts.
“It was not really bravery,” she went on. “I went with Rumil because he asked me, I stayed because they needed me, and I needed to be with them, too. I would have been scared of the nightmares if I had slept alone.”
He answered out loud this time, speaking Sindarin with a slightly apologetic nod to Fritha, “It was still brave. We were proud of you.”
“And you knew where I spent the night exactly how?”
“Open windows, good hearing… we are elves… How do you think we knew to warn Rumil about the maid coming?”
Behind Fritha’s back, Tindómë stuck her tongue out at him.
“It’s a good job I love you two!” She switched back to the Common Tongue. “Come, cousin, let us go to breakfast.”
Inside her head a voice said “Rumil is right – you are almost an elf – and we really are proud of you.”
……………………………………………………………………..
Rumil and Orophin were already in the Great Hall when Tindómë arrived with Elladan. They had their usual, calm, public faces on view, but to Tindómë, knowing them as she did, both looked genuinely calmer than they had over the past few days.
The two brothers greeted her with polite enquiries about how well she had slept, Rumil managing the question in reasonable Common. His enquiry, however, was accompanied by an elven ‘wink’ – a quick upward eye-movement – that she had to ignore.
She had been right, when they first arrived, that all four ellyn could be trouble whilst being so straight-faced, and seemingly straight-laced, and now even Rumil was doing it to her in Common as well as Sindarin!
As they ate, and conversation flowed around in Common and Rohirric, Elladan spoke quietly to Tindómë in Sindarin.
“There is another task for today, little warrior, that I would not usually ask of you, but I know that you will want to do it, even though it will be difficult.”
She looked at him, not even bothering to put the question into words.
“Yesterday evening Gifu’s mother and grandfather arrived – her father was a Rider lost at the Pelennor. They have asked that she be buried here, rather than taking her body back to their village, and so her funeral will be this morning.
“We will attend. You do not have to…” He left the sentence hanging in the air.
‘No! No! I don’t want to see them!’ Tindómë thought, but knew that she would go.
“What should I wear?” she asked out loud.
“Our brave little warrior. The Rohirrim wear black or dark colours when they bury their dead, the women usually cover their heads; very different to our own ceremony at sunset.”
“I will try to be dignified and not cry.”
“Good girl. We will be with you.”
…………………………………………………………………
By the time they set out, on the slow walk to an area some distance from both the fortress and the elven burial place, Tindómë had put on a dark blue dress with a matching dark blue cloak over it. The ellyn also wore dark tunics and cloaks. She walked behind Lady Wilflede, between the twins on one side and the brothers on the other. Rumil’s arm touched her lightly, as did Elrohir’s – unobtrusive support. Rumil was walking more easily, as Elladan had removed half his stitches, with the promise to remove the rest before the evening ceremony to honour Haldir and the others.
At the front of the procession were four men who carried Gifu’s body, no longer wrapped in Elrohir’s cloak, but not coffined – wrapped in dark green cloth and lying, as if asleep, on a bier. Gifu’s mother and grandfather walked slowly behind the pall-bearers, Áfor and Álith beside them; Álith had caught Tindómë’s eyes and smiled – she must try to talk to them later.
They walked between some small barrows, where other patches of broken earth showed recent burials, and Tindómë saw a newly dug grave. The grandfather spoke a few words, in Rohirric, and then, as Gifu’s body was slowly lowered into the ground, her mother sang an eerie dirge; the other women joining in one after the other.
Tindómë felt a lump in her throat and, in her mind’s eye, she could see that arrow piercing the young woman’s back. She felt her eyes brimming, and slowly tears rolled down her cheek. At either side she felt warm fingers curling into her own – an almost unprecedented public gesture – she squeezed both hands back, and kept staring straight ahead, not wanting to draw attention to her tears by wiping them.
They stood as small flowers were thrown into the grave and the earth was slowly piled back in on top of Gifu’s body. The sound of the women’s voices continued, until the hole was almost filled, and then Gifu’s mother threw a last handful of flowers where her daughter’s body could no longer be seen, and the song stopped. All was silence, except for the sound of the last shovelfuls of soil being put in place by the four men.
The ellyn showed no sign of moving, all four were looking fixedly ahead, faces without expression. Gifu’s mother, hand on the grandfather’s arm, turned away and slowly came towards them, stopping to say a few words to Lady Wilflede, and then stopping in front of Tindómë and the ellyn.
She spoke to them in Rohirric, but Álith stepped forward to translate, at which Lady Wilflede simply nodded.
“She thanks you,” Álith said.
Tindómë really couldn’t believe the woman could have said that but as Lady Wilflede was listening, and said nothing, Álith must have translated correctly.
“She thanks you for saving Gifu from a terrible, terrible fate,” Álith continued, he voice only faltering a little. “She thanks you for killing the orcs who killed her son-in-law and her grandson, and who most surely killed Gifu. She thanks you for bringing Gifu’s body home with… um…”
“Reverence,” Lady Wilflede provided.
Gifu’s mother continued, and Álith went on, “she says that she is not sad that Gifu was hit by an arrow.”
‘Not sad? But my arrow is what killed her!’ Tindómë thought.
“She says Gifu will now be in the Hall of our Fathers with her husband and her son; but her spirit would have been dead if her body had survived.”
Lady Wilflede was nodding, as if she agreed not only with the translation, but the sentiment.
“She thanks you, my lords, for coming to the burial; and she thanks you, from the depth of her heart, for your tears, my lady,” Álith concluded.
Tindómë knew that the ellyn would still be stony faced, and that she should, probably, just nod politely, but she couldn’t. She stepped forward and gently took the older woman in her arms for a few seconds before stepping back.
She steeled herself, and then said “Tell her that it was my arrow, and I am very, very, sorry.”
She could feel the ellyn all becoming even more still, as if they held their breath.
Álith’s eyes widened, Lady Wilflede was also suddenly still, but Álith translated what Tindómë had said.
Gifu’s mother said nothing. She stepped forward, and took Tindómë in her arms and held her closely for what felt like a long time. Tindómë could almost feel Lady Wilflede beginning to panic in case the body contact might be construed as an insult.
Then the woman let go and stepped back again, and the grandfather stepped forward and bowed slightly before saying, stiffly, in heavily accented Common, “The wrong was not yours, my lady. The wrong was all the orcs.” He nodded slowly at all the elven party again.
Tindómë could feel a wave of pride and love from Rumil, and in her head were two voices, simultaneously saying “Bravely done, little warrior.”
Gifu’s mother straightened her shoulders, held her head up, and started to walk back to the Hornburg, leading the procession again, with no more words – but pressed into Tindómë’s hand was a handkerchief and she knew that the woman had, indeed, forgiven her.
As they fell into place, behind the family and Lady Wilflede, Elrohir and Rumil again walked so closely to Tindómë that they were touching her and, as Elladan and Orophin moved so that they walked close behind, Orophin’s hand touched her briefly showing that he, too, supported her.
When they got back to the Great Hall food and drink was set out. The ellyn sat together with Tindómë between them and, one or two at a time, Rohirrim warriors came to speak to them about the orcs. No-one had spoken to Rumil about orcs the night before – she wondered if it had been a taboo subject until Gifu was buried or whether they had spoken to the others, but not Rumil, because they hadn’t wanted to discuss it through her.
If the latter, presumably word that it was her arrow that had inadvertently killed Gifu must have got around, and they not only now regarded her as a warrior, but they had no worries about ‘friendly fire incidents’. She wasn’t quite sure that she understood these people, but at least no-one seemed to want to try her, or put her in a dungeon, or anything, for killing one of their young women.
Álith approached them, and Tindómë made room for her to sit down.
“How are you?” both said almost together, and then stopped, and smiled.
Tindómë waited, and Álith answered, “I am sort of all right. I am fine in my body, and I know there is nothing that I can do to bring back my parents, my brothers…” her voice broke a little. “I am afraid to sleep, I have nightmares… Áfor does too. But we are so very grateful to be free and not brood mares for those… things!”
“I had nightmares too, the first night,” Tindómë admitted in sympathy, “but the others bent my thoughts to good dream paths… it’s an elf thing. Perhaps Elladan or Elrohir have some medicine that will help you sleep; I will ask them.”
She looked over, but the twins were deep in conversation, she would remember to do it later though.
“How is Rumil’s wound?” Álith asked. “I am surprised that he is out of bed and walking – your people are truly brave warriors.”
“He heals well, thank you,” Tindómë said, elven manners coming to the fore, so that she said no more.
“Aunt Ebba does not believe me that he was so grievously slit,” Álith said, sounding annoyed, “she says I exaggerate as he could not possibly walk with such an injury!”
The elf in question had obviously heard his name, and was listening with interest, Tindómë realised, and although he probably didn’t understand every word, he understood enough! Now, she thought, is he going to be happier to be thought less injured, or proud of his stoicism and healing ability?
She settled for “You saw and your aunt didn’t. He heals well.”
She looked at Rumil. His face remained expressionless apart from the merest hint of a ‘wink’.
“Perhaps,” Tindómë said, in a serious voice to him, in Sindarin, “we could ask her aunt to come and inspect you…”
“Perhaps not,” he answered, equally solemnly, “she may not have a husband and I would need to take my leggings off…”
“He thanks you for asking,” Tindómë returned to Common, “and says that he heals well.” She could play this game too!
“If he is like our men,” Álith said, almost dismissively, “he will be more embarrassed about being injured than if I had caught him,” she used a Rohirric word that Tindómë didn’t understand, “with his horse!”
A little further along the table Elrohir choked on his wine. As she had never seen him do so before, Tindómë was surprised.
“Are you all right Elrohir?” she asked.
He answered her, in a voice just managing to be almost toneless, speaking Sindarin, “Rumil may ride a mare, but I do not think he is ever likely to do with her what the maiden has just suggested…”
Changing the subject, Álith went on “The men say that elves are stronger than they look. I know now that this must be true, because I wouldn’t have thought it possible for a girl to loose an arrow from the trees to where Gifu lay with enough force to fully enter her body. Better that it did, than that she bleed to death!”
It hadn’t occurred to Tindómë; the distance she had sent the arrow was not so far compared with time on the practice fields, but the power needed to kill the other girl cleanly was, well, horribly impressive, now that she thought about it.
Álith’s aunt called for her, she shrugged her shoulders and went.
Tindómë thought that she must, later, ask the others about the power she had used to draw her bow.
After a little longer Elladan said that he needed fresh air, and he thought it would not be impolite to leave the hall by now – he was going to climb up to the top of the fortress to see if he could see any sign of Erkenbrand and his men coming.
The others decided to accompany him and, by the time Elrohir had translated Álith’s comment about Rohirrim warriors, their wounds, and their horses, they were high enough to look out towards Edoras.
Tindómë could see a vague blob on the horizon, which might be horsemen, but it was apparent that the others could all see clearly, when Elladan said, to no-one in particular, “Ai Elbereth! Should we tell her or let her find out for herself?”
“Tell me what?” Tindómë demanded.
“Not you,” Orophin was laughing as he spoke, which she thought was wonderful, but curious.
“Not you,” he finally got out, “Lady Wilflede! We can see the banners, little one!”
He stopped to laugh again, and Elrohir took up the explanation, “Lord Erkenbrand’s banner is not at the front… the leading banner is Éomer’s! Éomer comes – and you three are sleeping in his bed!”
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The BtVS characters do not belong to me, but are used for amusement only. All rights remain the property of Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, and the original TV companies. The same is true of the LotR characters for whom all rights remain the property of the estate of JRR Tolkien and the companies responsible for the production of the films.
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In other news - well it's no wonder this island is so green - it is raining again - and again. Feels like November - apart from the flowers that are in bloom!
I have almost packed my entire office into transit boxes - although there still doesn't seem to be a definite date to move, even though the original deadline was tomorrow. Throwing out every memo that you've been sent over the last five years is very liberating! I decided that as the other people in my new office will have copies of them all, I could shred all mine - yay!
Final silly thought - I was just putting my location as 'in transit' - and it reminded me that as a twenty-something I had friends who raced motor-bikes - one of them had the inevitable Transit van, to take the bikes to meetings, called 'Gloria Monday'. Because it was often a sick transit....
(If you don't understand that last bit, do ask!)
Chapter Ten.
Rating 15.
5,050 words.
Beta'd, as usual, by S2C.
As the realisation of what it was that Rumil ‘could not’, of what it was that he thought they ‘needed’, hit her Tindómë stiffened. A whole kaleidoscope of thoughts and images flew through her mind in seconds.
Oddly, it occurred to her later, the very first thought was ‘but I couldn’t do that with Orophin – he’s older!’ This was incredibly stupid – Orophin was twenty years older than Rumil – but, as Rumil was one thousand two hundred and ninety-three years old, twenty years was really neither here nor there…
Crowded on top of that silly thought were others less silly. Rumil was right; he couldn’t, not with his insides still held in by bandages and stitches. Both the ellyn did need comfort – and Rumil believed that intimate contact would comfort all of them.
Tindómë thought that Orophin needed comfort even more than Rumil – in amongst the broken sobs of ‘muindor-nín’ – which she had realised applied to each other, as well as the dead Haldir, had been ‘Ada’ and ‘Nana’ – ‘Dad’ and ‘Mom’.
What little she had been told about the death of their parents suggested that Álith talking about the raid on her home must have brought back other horrible memories for Orophin; less so for Rumil, who had been half asleep and had probably not understood much of what she had said. Here, too, was where that twenty year age gap actually mattered; Lord Celeborn had explained to her that all elven memories remained clear except for those of the first ten to fifteen years of life – early elflinghood.
Rumil had been about ten, Orophin thirty, when their parents had died – the equivalent of a three or four year old and an eleven year old in human terms. Orophin had clear memories, unlike Rumil, of that early orc attack.
All those bad memories, along with Rumil being so badly injured, and the way that she had come between them herself; it was a wonder Orophin was not a total wreck, but instead he had spent last night comforting her.
And Rumil was right – what he ‘could not’ probably would comfort her if he ‘could’. She recognised that part of her own distress was not just for the death of the other young woman, but also because she had learnt from Buffy that nobody could still want you after you had killed someone.
All these things went through her mind as she lay, stiffly, between the two ellyn.
Then she realised that, behind her, Orophin must have felt her reaction. There was now no contact along the length of her back – he had eased away, just enough, and he was talking gently.
“Tindómë, little one, you don’t have to. Rumil you should not have asked it of her. I will be well enough. I will just sit by the window or go into the other bedroom. Even though you cannot, you can draw enough comfort from each other…”
She felt a sudden pang of guilt – and knew it was Rumil’s – whether guilty for asking it of her, or guilty at the thought of Orophin feeling that he had to leave the enormous bed, Tindómë didn’t know.
And she didn’t care.
Suddenly it was easy – Rumil was right – all three ‘needed’ comfort and reassurance. She remembered thinking, the night before, how much she had wanted to comfort Rumil and yet it had been Orophin who had ended up caring for them both. Now both Orophin and Rumil needed comforting, and what they needed was not soft words, it was physical contact – the physical contact that elves did not use lightly.
They needed to be held as close as possible – and, if this meant at some point that the two bodies that ‘could’ ended up as closely joined as it was possible to get, then it would be very little more intimate than the three naked bodies pressed together and less intimate, in some ways, than being witness to the grief of a couple of hours previous.
It wasn’t scary, or uncomfortable, or anything else; the choice was totally hers. As Orophin began to move his arm away from her she brought her hand up and stopped him.
“Orophin, please, stay,” she said.
He left his arm where it lay, but he did not curl against her again. He wasn’t going to get much comfort from lying stiffly in the bed, trying not to touch her, she thought. Rumil had also tensed up.
Tindómë consciously relaxed, felt her own body soften, and then reached a hand to Rumil’s face and turned it towards herself. His eyes still looked slightly blank, and he didn’t quite meet her gaze – she guessed that she had made him feel guilty over something that had seemed right to him. She willed him to look at her, she tried to ‘push’ how much she cared through the faer thing, but got little response and she wondered if he was blocking her out. She moved a little more until her forehead touched his and he had trouble avoiding her gaze.
“Rumil-nín,” she tried again to share her own feelings – her own need for reassurance. “You are right. We do need… I need too…”
She felt him relax, but there was still little sense of emotion from him – if Orophin felt the same then both were ‘empty’ – they really did ‘need’ – they needed love and care to refill them emotionally.
She realised that she felt a sense of loss because Orophin was no longer curled against her back. He lay tense and still behind her; there was no contact except the touch of the arm held so stiffly that it barely touched her. She moved a little towards him and said “Phin… come closer…”
…………………………………………………….
Elrohir stood at the open window in only his leggings, enjoying the air on his bare chest, the slight breeze in his hair.
“You have been her healer these last two days,” Elladan’s voice was quiet as he stood within arm’s reach. “Is she strong enough, just now, to cope?”
Elrohir thought carefully before answering, and in the silence he could hear voices, quiet voices from the open window of the room next door. He had no qualms about listening; all elves were used to hearing the sounds of the others around them. At home in Imladris all rooms had large open windows and doors that were rarely closed; in Lorien sound carried easily from talan to talan and elves had good hearing. Usually you simply chose not to listen, but sometimes…
“Phin… I cannot…”
“I think so,” he answered his brother. “She is very strong for one so young. Whether this is because of the power within her, or the dangerous place in which she was raised before she came home to Middle Earth, I do not know; but I think she is strong enough.
“The worst thing for her was realising that it was her arrow. The sister in the other place would have been very angry and turned against her – or at least that is what our little warrior believes - although probably she is wrong. Sister-hood cannot be that different and I would not have been angry with you if it had been your arrow, even if it had been an elleth.
“But Tindómë’s faer is very strong. You and I could feel their pain even within these stone walls; with her link to Rumil it must have been like a storm rolling over her. Yet she was calm when I spoke to her mind on their return – and not in the empty way they have left themselves.”
“Meleth-nín, please? You need… I need… Phin needs… I cannot…”
“Do you think she realises yet exactly what Rumil is asking?” Elladan still sounded worried. “It is clear to us, but she is ‘not quite an elf’…”
He said the phrase exactly as Rumil did and, even though the subject was so serious, Elrohir smiled.
A few moments later came Orophin’s voice.
“Tindómë, little one, you don’t have to. Rumil you should not have asked it of her…”
“I think she does now,” Elrohir answered, and although he sounded amused he was worried.
He was sure that Rumil was right – as much bodily contact as possible, including the ultimate body contact, would heal all three. That Rumil ‘cannot’ was actually a good thing; the one most in need was Orophin and, probably, second most needy was Tindómë, despite the reassurance he had just given Elladan.
If the little one rejected the brothers badly it would be hard to do anything about it just now. They could bring Orophin into their own bed, but that would take him away from his brother, not ideal right now and likely to make tomorrow’s ceremonies harder for the Galadhrim. If Rumil’s request caused dissonance between himself and Tindómë it would further damage faers already hurt…
He wanted to speak to Tindómë’s mind, to say “Please, please don’t reject them,” but he knew it was the worst possible thing he could do right now.
Without thought both twins closed the gap between them, until their arms touched, as both held their breath.
“I need too… Phin… come closer…” Tindómë’s voice, soft but firm.
Elrohir breathed again – simultaneously so did Elladan.
They stood together at the window and continued to listen shamelessly.
“They will probably not be heard by the men,” Elladan said, his own voice so soft that no-one but another elf within inches could hear, “but we can stand watch for them in case they sleep eventually and shock the maid! They probably forgot to lock the door.
“Who do you think is most receptive, for us to tell them that, just now?” he finished.
“Rumil,” Elrohir answered immediately. “Tindómë would be unsettled if she thought we listened; Orophin is more in need of healing and less likely to hear just now. I will do it.”
There were soft wordless sounds from the other room. Elrohir concentrated and pictured Rumil in his mind.
“Rumil? Rumil?” He sent the thought quietly and waited.
“Elrohir?” The response was firmer than he anticipated.
“Rumil – we will stand guard, my friend. If we think the men might hear we will tell you. But, more importantly, if you all sleep we will wake you before the maid does. Be whole, all of you.”
“Thank you, my friend.” Elrohir could feel Rumil turn his mind away to other things.
“Bring the chairs and the wine, El,” he said out loud, “it will be a more pleasant guard duty than most…”
All that could be heard through the night, apart from the guards below, the horses, and the odd night bird, were occasional soft murmurings, not even a creaking of the bed. That thought made his twin smile when he shared it with Elladan – Éomer King’s bed must be kept well tightened…
Towards the morning Elladan slumbered when Elrohir heard a couple of soft giggles, and then the only loud cry of the night, quickly quashed, which brought to mind Rumil’s dry comment that ‘my human lady knows how to share silence – and when to put her beautiful mouth to best use…’ Elrohir grinned.
……………………………………………………….
“Mmm…” Tindómë woke gently. Someone was nibbling on her earlobe. She half opened an eye and could see Rumil’s hair, tousled slightly, where he lay with his head pillowed on her breast. Huh? How could he be nibbling her earlobe if his head… her breast…?
She was totally awake, with brain and memory functioning, very, very quickly. Blond head on breast – Orophin; ear-nibbler – Rumil. She had just shared the bed, in a totally different way to the previous night, with both of them; she mentally ran through a list of emotions – did she feel guilty? Shocked? Used? Ashamed? A total ho? No! If you had asked her how it might feel to wake up in this position she might have said any or all of those, but actually she felt more… cherished.
She must have ended up where she had started – in the middle. Her head was on a pillow, Rumil was lying turned towards her with his fingers in her hair, still nibbling her ear, and if he was happy that his brother slept on the other side of her with his head on her breast, her hand held by his against his bare chest, then that was what mattered most.
Realising that she was now awake, Rumil smiled, his eyes no longer blank or sliding away from her gaze but actually… full of fun! He shook his head infinitesimally, a clear ‘Don’t disturb him’ gesture, and leaned in to kiss her, briefly but sweetly, before he ran his fingernail down Orophin’s cheek.
Orophin woke immediately and Tindómë could see that he, too, was mentally taking stock.
Before Orophin could move, Rumil spoke. “Meleth-nín, muindor-nín, Elrohir says to waken now, as the maid has just arrived with hot water. He says Elladan has waylaid her and is likely to keep her occupied for at least ten minutes.
“He also says that if you need more time before she reaches your room, meleth, perhaps Orophin should open this door wearing nothing but his leggings…!”
Orophin glanced warily towards Tindómë’s face. Although he might look a little unsure of her reaction, she thought, at least he no longer looked ‘empty’ either. Later she might turn over in her mind what had gone on during the night, but not right now.
She really wasn’t sure what to say; it was not the sort of situation covered in anything she’d read, either here in Middle Earth or back in Sunnydale, and she didn’t remember Boroniel or Eriathwen mentioning it either…
She smiled, and twisted the fingers of their hands together where they lay on his chest. He looked at the two hands, gave hers a slight squeeze before releasing it, smiled back and sat up.
“And why should it be me in my leggings? Perhaps it should be you, muindor-nín, with nothing but your bandages…?”
“Oh, no!” Tindómë said. “That might just frighten her so that she runs straight to the Queen’s room!”
Orophin slid out of the bed – then held his hand out to Tindómë.
“Hurry, then, for the men, or women, would not understand why you needed to be with us.”
She kissed Rumil briefly, and then turned back to Orophin. He took both her hands in his, leant forward until his forehead touched hers in what was a particularly elven gesture, and said, quietly, “Thank you.”
“And you,” she answered.
By the time Fritha knocked on the door to the Queen’s room, and then entered with a jug of hot water, Tindómë’s bed looked slightly rumpled and she was wearing her underwear. However, Tindómë thought, if she had been stark naked, with her head shaved, Fritha looked as if she would probably not have noticed. Best not to ask exactly how Elladan had kept the maid waylaid; she knew the twins could charm birds off trees, and Fritha had been dazzled enough yesterday by Orophin with all his clothes on …
…………………………………………………………..
A knock on the outer door, and Elladan came in, fully dressed.
“Good morning, tithen maethor,” he greeted her in the Common Tongue, “we hope that you spent the night in comfort.”
‘M’kay,’ Tindómë thought, ‘why tithen maethor in Sindarin? Why does he think of me as a warrior today? And… in comfort?’
“Thank you, Elladan,” she answered, also in the Common tongue as a politeness to the maid. “My night was certainly spent… in comfort… Why would it not be?”
She raised one eyebrow, in what she knew was also a very elven gesture.
He inclined his head a tiny amount, and offered his arm, saying no more. At least saying no more out loud.
“I am sorry, Tindómë,” his voice was clear in her head, “I should not tease you. You were very brave to stay with them when they sorrowed so, and to stay with them when they returned to the Hornburg, and finally to stay with them and let them take comfort physically to help them regain their balance. No warrior could have been braver, or done more.”
“They have been so good to me, how could I do less?” She answered out loud, in Sindarin, as she was still not sure just how much effort it took to make one of the Els ‘hear’ thoughts.
“It was not really bravery,” she went on. “I went with Rumil because he asked me, I stayed because they needed me, and I needed to be with them, too. I would have been scared of the nightmares if I had slept alone.”
He answered out loud this time, speaking Sindarin with a slightly apologetic nod to Fritha, “It was still brave. We were proud of you.”
“And you knew where I spent the night exactly how?”
“Open windows, good hearing… we are elves… How do you think we knew to warn Rumil about the maid coming?”
Behind Fritha’s back, Tindómë stuck her tongue out at him.
“It’s a good job I love you two!” She switched back to the Common Tongue. “Come, cousin, let us go to breakfast.”
Inside her head a voice said “Rumil is right – you are almost an elf – and we really are proud of you.”
……………………………………………………………………..
Rumil and Orophin were already in the Great Hall when Tindómë arrived with Elladan. They had their usual, calm, public faces on view, but to Tindómë, knowing them as she did, both looked genuinely calmer than they had over the past few days.
The two brothers greeted her with polite enquiries about how well she had slept, Rumil managing the question in reasonable Common. His enquiry, however, was accompanied by an elven ‘wink’ – a quick upward eye-movement – that she had to ignore.
She had been right, when they first arrived, that all four ellyn could be trouble whilst being so straight-faced, and seemingly straight-laced, and now even Rumil was doing it to her in Common as well as Sindarin!
As they ate, and conversation flowed around in Common and Rohirric, Elladan spoke quietly to Tindómë in Sindarin.
“There is another task for today, little warrior, that I would not usually ask of you, but I know that you will want to do it, even though it will be difficult.”
She looked at him, not even bothering to put the question into words.
“Yesterday evening Gifu’s mother and grandfather arrived – her father was a Rider lost at the Pelennor. They have asked that she be buried here, rather than taking her body back to their village, and so her funeral will be this morning.
“We will attend. You do not have to…” He left the sentence hanging in the air.
‘No! No! I don’t want to see them!’ Tindómë thought, but knew that she would go.
“What should I wear?” she asked out loud.
“Our brave little warrior. The Rohirrim wear black or dark colours when they bury their dead, the women usually cover their heads; very different to our own ceremony at sunset.”
“I will try to be dignified and not cry.”
“Good girl. We will be with you.”
…………………………………………………………………
By the time they set out, on the slow walk to an area some distance from both the fortress and the elven burial place, Tindómë had put on a dark blue dress with a matching dark blue cloak over it. The ellyn also wore dark tunics and cloaks. She walked behind Lady Wilflede, between the twins on one side and the brothers on the other. Rumil’s arm touched her lightly, as did Elrohir’s – unobtrusive support. Rumil was walking more easily, as Elladan had removed half his stitches, with the promise to remove the rest before the evening ceremony to honour Haldir and the others.
At the front of the procession were four men who carried Gifu’s body, no longer wrapped in Elrohir’s cloak, but not coffined – wrapped in dark green cloth and lying, as if asleep, on a bier. Gifu’s mother and grandfather walked slowly behind the pall-bearers, Áfor and Álith beside them; Álith had caught Tindómë’s eyes and smiled – she must try to talk to them later.
They walked between some small barrows, where other patches of broken earth showed recent burials, and Tindómë saw a newly dug grave. The grandfather spoke a few words, in Rohirric, and then, as Gifu’s body was slowly lowered into the ground, her mother sang an eerie dirge; the other women joining in one after the other.
Tindómë felt a lump in her throat and, in her mind’s eye, she could see that arrow piercing the young woman’s back. She felt her eyes brimming, and slowly tears rolled down her cheek. At either side she felt warm fingers curling into her own – an almost unprecedented public gesture – she squeezed both hands back, and kept staring straight ahead, not wanting to draw attention to her tears by wiping them.
They stood as small flowers were thrown into the grave and the earth was slowly piled back in on top of Gifu’s body. The sound of the women’s voices continued, until the hole was almost filled, and then Gifu’s mother threw a last handful of flowers where her daughter’s body could no longer be seen, and the song stopped. All was silence, except for the sound of the last shovelfuls of soil being put in place by the four men.
The ellyn showed no sign of moving, all four were looking fixedly ahead, faces without expression. Gifu’s mother, hand on the grandfather’s arm, turned away and slowly came towards them, stopping to say a few words to Lady Wilflede, and then stopping in front of Tindómë and the ellyn.
She spoke to them in Rohirric, but Álith stepped forward to translate, at which Lady Wilflede simply nodded.
“She thanks you,” Álith said.
Tindómë really couldn’t believe the woman could have said that but as Lady Wilflede was listening, and said nothing, Álith must have translated correctly.
“She thanks you for saving Gifu from a terrible, terrible fate,” Álith continued, he voice only faltering a little. “She thanks you for killing the orcs who killed her son-in-law and her grandson, and who most surely killed Gifu. She thanks you for bringing Gifu’s body home with… um…”
“Reverence,” Lady Wilflede provided.
Gifu’s mother continued, and Álith went on, “she says that she is not sad that Gifu was hit by an arrow.”
‘Not sad? But my arrow is what killed her!’ Tindómë thought.
“She says Gifu will now be in the Hall of our Fathers with her husband and her son; but her spirit would have been dead if her body had survived.”
Lady Wilflede was nodding, as if she agreed not only with the translation, but the sentiment.
“She thanks you, my lords, for coming to the burial; and she thanks you, from the depth of her heart, for your tears, my lady,” Álith concluded.
Tindómë knew that the ellyn would still be stony faced, and that she should, probably, just nod politely, but she couldn’t. She stepped forward and gently took the older woman in her arms for a few seconds before stepping back.
She steeled herself, and then said “Tell her that it was my arrow, and I am very, very, sorry.”
She could feel the ellyn all becoming even more still, as if they held their breath.
Álith’s eyes widened, Lady Wilflede was also suddenly still, but Álith translated what Tindómë had said.
Gifu’s mother said nothing. She stepped forward, and took Tindómë in her arms and held her closely for what felt like a long time. Tindómë could almost feel Lady Wilflede beginning to panic in case the body contact might be construed as an insult.
Then the woman let go and stepped back again, and the grandfather stepped forward and bowed slightly before saying, stiffly, in heavily accented Common, “The wrong was not yours, my lady. The wrong was all the orcs.” He nodded slowly at all the elven party again.
Tindómë could feel a wave of pride and love from Rumil, and in her head were two voices, simultaneously saying “Bravely done, little warrior.”
Gifu’s mother straightened her shoulders, held her head up, and started to walk back to the Hornburg, leading the procession again, with no more words – but pressed into Tindómë’s hand was a handkerchief and she knew that the woman had, indeed, forgiven her.
As they fell into place, behind the family and Lady Wilflede, Elrohir and Rumil again walked so closely to Tindómë that they were touching her and, as Elladan and Orophin moved so that they walked close behind, Orophin’s hand touched her briefly showing that he, too, supported her.
When they got back to the Great Hall food and drink was set out. The ellyn sat together with Tindómë between them and, one or two at a time, Rohirrim warriors came to speak to them about the orcs. No-one had spoken to Rumil about orcs the night before – she wondered if it had been a taboo subject until Gifu was buried or whether they had spoken to the others, but not Rumil, because they hadn’t wanted to discuss it through her.
If the latter, presumably word that it was her arrow that had inadvertently killed Gifu must have got around, and they not only now regarded her as a warrior, but they had no worries about ‘friendly fire incidents’. She wasn’t quite sure that she understood these people, but at least no-one seemed to want to try her, or put her in a dungeon, or anything, for killing one of their young women.
Álith approached them, and Tindómë made room for her to sit down.
“How are you?” both said almost together, and then stopped, and smiled.
Tindómë waited, and Álith answered, “I am sort of all right. I am fine in my body, and I know there is nothing that I can do to bring back my parents, my brothers…” her voice broke a little. “I am afraid to sleep, I have nightmares… Áfor does too. But we are so very grateful to be free and not brood mares for those… things!”
“I had nightmares too, the first night,” Tindómë admitted in sympathy, “but the others bent my thoughts to good dream paths… it’s an elf thing. Perhaps Elladan or Elrohir have some medicine that will help you sleep; I will ask them.”
She looked over, but the twins were deep in conversation, she would remember to do it later though.
“How is Rumil’s wound?” Álith asked. “I am surprised that he is out of bed and walking – your people are truly brave warriors.”
“He heals well, thank you,” Tindómë said, elven manners coming to the fore, so that she said no more.
“Aunt Ebba does not believe me that he was so grievously slit,” Álith said, sounding annoyed, “she says I exaggerate as he could not possibly walk with such an injury!”
The elf in question had obviously heard his name, and was listening with interest, Tindómë realised, and although he probably didn’t understand every word, he understood enough! Now, she thought, is he going to be happier to be thought less injured, or proud of his stoicism and healing ability?
She settled for “You saw and your aunt didn’t. He heals well.”
She looked at Rumil. His face remained expressionless apart from the merest hint of a ‘wink’.
“Perhaps,” Tindómë said, in a serious voice to him, in Sindarin, “we could ask her aunt to come and inspect you…”
“Perhaps not,” he answered, equally solemnly, “she may not have a husband and I would need to take my leggings off…”
“He thanks you for asking,” Tindómë returned to Common, “and says that he heals well.” She could play this game too!
“If he is like our men,” Álith said, almost dismissively, “he will be more embarrassed about being injured than if I had caught him,” she used a Rohirric word that Tindómë didn’t understand, “with his horse!”
A little further along the table Elrohir choked on his wine. As she had never seen him do so before, Tindómë was surprised.
“Are you all right Elrohir?” she asked.
He answered her, in a voice just managing to be almost toneless, speaking Sindarin, “Rumil may ride a mare, but I do not think he is ever likely to do with her what the maiden has just suggested…”
Changing the subject, Álith went on “The men say that elves are stronger than they look. I know now that this must be true, because I wouldn’t have thought it possible for a girl to loose an arrow from the trees to where Gifu lay with enough force to fully enter her body. Better that it did, than that she bleed to death!”
It hadn’t occurred to Tindómë; the distance she had sent the arrow was not so far compared with time on the practice fields, but the power needed to kill the other girl cleanly was, well, horribly impressive, now that she thought about it.
Álith’s aunt called for her, she shrugged her shoulders and went.
Tindómë thought that she must, later, ask the others about the power she had used to draw her bow.
After a little longer Elladan said that he needed fresh air, and he thought it would not be impolite to leave the hall by now – he was going to climb up to the top of the fortress to see if he could see any sign of Erkenbrand and his men coming.
The others decided to accompany him and, by the time Elrohir had translated Álith’s comment about Rohirrim warriors, their wounds, and their horses, they were high enough to look out towards Edoras.
Tindómë could see a vague blob on the horizon, which might be horsemen, but it was apparent that the others could all see clearly, when Elladan said, to no-one in particular, “Ai Elbereth! Should we tell her or let her find out for herself?”
“Tell me what?” Tindómë demanded.
“Not you,” Orophin was laughing as he spoke, which she thought was wonderful, but curious.
“Not you,” he finally got out, “Lady Wilflede! We can see the banners, little one!”
He stopped to laugh again, and Elrohir took up the explanation, “Lord Erkenbrand’s banner is not at the front… the leading banner is Éomer’s! Éomer comes – and you three are sleeping in his bed!”
.....................................................................
The BtVS characters do not belong to me, but are used for amusement only. All rights remain the property of Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, and the original TV companies. The same is true of the LotR characters for whom all rights remain the property of the estate of JRR Tolkien and the companies responsible for the production of the films.
......................................................................
In other news - well it's no wonder this island is so green - it is raining again - and again. Feels like November - apart from the flowers that are in bloom!
I have almost packed my entire office into transit boxes - although there still doesn't seem to be a definite date to move, even though the original deadline was tomorrow. Throwing out every memo that you've been sent over the last five years is very liberating! I decided that as the other people in my new office will have copies of them all, I could shred all mine - yay!
Final silly thought - I was just putting my location as 'in transit' - and it reminded me that as a twenty-something I had friends who raced motor-bikes - one of them had the inevitable Transit van, to take the bikes to meetings, called 'Gloria Monday'. Because it was often a sick transit....
(If you don't understand that last bit, do ask!)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 06:42 pm (UTC)It's been raining heavily here as well. Last night it was heavy enough that I lost the internet connection on my mobile phone, and that rarely happens. (It would also freeze and drop me from the server a lot when I DID get a chance to be online on my phone.)
I don't think I know what a Transit van is, can you explain that? And by "van", do you mean a commercial vehicle or a privately owned one?
no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 07:02 pm (UTC)Nice to see that Tindómë is learning all "aspects" of Elven life "cough".
Sic gloria transit Mundi to you as well.
no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 07:20 pm (UTC)It's been raining here too, and when it doesn't rain the sky is gray. It really doesn't feel like May.
no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 07:50 pm (UTC)And it was, of course, called Gloria from the phrase 'sic transit gloria mundi' which is used in the ceremony to enthrone a pope!
Getting rid of the clutter has been good!
no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 07:54 pm (UTC)I wanted that scene to not be romantic - which is not often the case with such things! I am a bit worried that I might get some 'You can't have Dawn doing THAT!' comments, though.
no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 07:56 pm (UTC)Apparently on the Isle of Skye today it was bright and sunny and the temperature was 20C - I seem to be on the wrong island.
after a sick transit
Date: 14/05/2009 08:07 pm (UTC)tempers few get
Re: after a sick transit
Date: 14/05/2009 08:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 08:18 pm (UTC)Oh I am glad that you had a beautiful day - I am sure that warmth and sunshine are good for you.
of course even setting that aside
Date: 14/05/2009 08:20 pm (UTC)I turn and toss
sorry. +S
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Date: 14/05/2009 08:20 pm (UTC)I'd like to ask a really stupid question -- I think I didn't really get the implication at the previous chapter break -- had Rumil not been injured, and had Tindome not been there, would he and Orophin had been, um, intimate with each other?
And since you offered, I'd like to ask -- what does the last bit mean?
Thank you again for this wonderful fic and also for sharing your thoughts and wisdom!
no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 08:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 08:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 09:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 09:24 pm (UTC)As for quite what they may or may not have done if there had only been Rumil and Orophin - to a certain extent I leave it to your own imagination - but most certainly if Rumil had been uninjured he would have sought comfort with, and for, Tindómë.
The line “Meleth-nín, please? You need… I need… Phin needs… I cannot…” has been in my mind for this part of the story since I started writing the whole thing in January - and I was only thinking of him 'not being able to' in reference to Tindómë, until after I had written it down a couple of weeks ago.
Without Tindómë then just how close they might have clung to each other is up to you... I think it would have been a possibility, but I think it is a place where the reader makes their own interpretation. As indeed is They could bring Orophin into their own bed, but that would take him away from his brother,...
As for the transit - there is an oft quoted line, which I gather actually comes from the enthronement of popes, which is 'sic transit gloria mundi' - which means, more or less 'thus passes the glory of the world'.
I was amused at the time because, as the transit needed 'nursing' to keep it running, the pun in calling a sick Transit 'Gloria Monday' was so neat, and unexpected from the person who had coined it. Although I am sure it will have been done many times.
Re: of course even setting that aside
Date: 14/05/2009 09:25 pm (UTC)I forgive you...!!!
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Date: 14/05/2009 09:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 09:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 09:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 10:15 pm (UTC)Another great installment, and some unexpected humour in very difficult circumstances. Looking forward to more.
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Date: 14/05/2009 10:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 14/05/2009 10:51 pm (UTC)The funeral scene was very effective. Painful. And I am glad she told them and glad that they took it well.
Probably as well not to mention it to Buffy though. ... or Spike ... I reread Return of the Key a few days ago and found myself really wondering how she got on talking to Spike or if she could.
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Date: 14/05/2009 11:49 pm (UTC)Ah - just because it wasn't here doesn't mean it won't turn up later... especially as Later she might turn over in her mind what had gone on during the night, but not right now.
Writing the funeral took me a while, even tough I could 'see it' in my mind's eye, but I ws happy with it when it was done. I think they took it well because it was clear, from the outset, that Gifu had been hit by an arrow from one of the elves - knowing which one didn't really make a lot of difference - except that Gifu's mother would recognise how much pain it had brought someone who is clearly, to her, only young, and upset.
By the time that Tindómë is yanked back to Sunnydale there will be so much of her life that she knows the people there just will not understand. Especially as the 'almost an elf' bit means that she only looks about 18 or so to them and so it is hard to take on board that she is, well it is hard to really calculate how old she is!
She 'arrived' in Sunnydale as a 14 year old, but hadn't lived those 14 years, and by the middle of RoTK she had been away for only a couple of months or so, but lived over 22 years! I think, if you asked her at that point in RoTK how old she was she would probably say 69! That would be 19 years past her coming of age, which is usually at 50 for an elf.
It is possible Spike might understand, but I think that she would firmly believe by that time that, as Orophin says here the men, or women, would not understand why you needed to be with us. She would have learnt that elves do not discuss 'elf things' with others - just as, in RoTK, when Rumil and Orophin rescue her from the muggers/rapists Gandalf got Gimli and the hobbits out of the house before the elves discussed just how Rumil had known where she was and that she was in trouble, and before Gandalf explained her own immortality to her. So she might well have told Spike that Rumil thought she should have the chance to play the field - but probably not have told him that the first 'other' was actually his brother...
I think that the person who got more of 'the low-down' on elves was actually Andrew - but even then he would not have been told things that she believed he would not understand, or take in a different way to the elves. He was, probably, the only one who was told the elves ages, or had it pointed out in words of one syllable that they did not remain virgins until bound...
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Date: 15/05/2009 03:35 am (UTC)Sick Transit Gloria Monday -- oh the pun, it slays me!
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Date: 15/05/2009 05:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 15/05/2009 07:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 15/05/2009 07:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 15/05/2009 09:28 am (UTC)Going back to the Silmarillion I think elves learned the hard way how much of their customs to share with men and how badly wrong assumptions of common cultural mores could go. And Tindome is still carrying a layer of SoCal conditioning that would make her shy about this night - as the big ho comment reveals - and also about the grief she has shared with the brothers.
I think a lot would depend on when she told Spike. Those conversations through the frame have the feel of those terribly expensive Christmas or birthday phonecalls emigrants used to make to their families at home. There is so much to be said but you don't know how much time there is to say it and conversation like that is hard anyway that they end up being so simple they are almost (or actually) banal in content. As time passes for Spike but Tindome/Dawn still appears the same and after he has lost Buffy I don't think he could keep on thinking of Tindome as 'Niblet,' Buffy's sister, the child to be protected. They might start to bond over deeper subjects than boys and nail polish, like what it is like to remain forever youthful and lovely while those you love age and die and how you won't see them again even in death. I imagine Spike inheriting that letter of the Twins and reading it in his own light.
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Date: 15/05/2009 09:32 am (UTC)I remember reading in a Saki story about a large family who had a car called 'The envy of Sisyphus' because it really was quite easy to push up hills. Like that one.
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Date: 15/05/2009 07:57 pm (UTC)In my mind is the ghost of the story 'What would happen if she is able to contact Spike?' I have only a vague and shapeless idea yet - I think it might be a little while before I get around to looking at it properly. But you see those conversations through the frame exactly as I do - the emigrant's phone call home - or possibly one of those little ciné films that people used to send across the world to grandparents.
I think Spike would, indeed, have more in common to discuss than Buffy did - we shall see...
Yes - the twins' letter would have a slightly different resonance for Spike... wombat thinks thinky thoughts...
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Date: 15/05/2009 07:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 16/05/2009 06:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 29/05/2009 04:33 pm (UTC)I loved the funeral, the details you give us (like the eerie dirge), and the scene with Gifu's mother and grandfather; and I loved the scene with Álith. The earlier part made me surprisingly uncomfortable, LOL. I'm such a prude! (People have asked me to write a threesome with Haldir. Maybe I should try it :-)
So far, I'm only partially right about Orophin. I thought that he might be feeling excluded (being so close to his brother) and need some TLC, but there's another thing I thought might happen, which hasn't -- at least, not so far...
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Date: 29/05/2009 06:56 pm (UTC)I am glad the funeral worked for you.
I'm not sure I would say you were a prude! But I am not sure I could see YOUR Legolas and Éowyn inviting Haldir in without too many serious repercussions...
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Date: 29/05/2009 07:57 pm (UTC)Doesn't really bear thinking about, does it? Legolas would run a mile from any sexual situation with Haldir; Haldir would become obsessed with Eowyn; Eowyn would... feel really, really guilty.